A Harvest of Presence

There is a window of quietude before my boys wake and I ease into the day relishing and digesting words of comfort from favorite authors accompanied with a warm cup of coffee. Bird calls ring into the air. A variety of birds have found home in our Avocado trees. As I read and sip, outside a vendor’s holler selling Lemonsito in a sing-song voice breaks through the silence. It sounds pleasant and brings a beautiful nostalgia of sorts taking me into a time in the past where one of the common ways to earn a living entailed a captivating song to attract the sale of whatever is intended to be sold. A few days ago the song was "Isdaaaa, lab-as!”  Today, it was, “Lemoooon, lemonsitoooo!" The first syllables a higher pitch than the second and a prolonged articulation on the last ones.

These days framed by the COVID-19 pandemic can only be described as uncertain and unreal but bring with it “a harvest of presence”, as David Whyte describes beauty. A mindful attention to the ordinary. These times call my attention to the most mundane of things, of tasks, of happenings. Many of which under normal circumstances I have gone through in a rush to get to the “more important” tasks. Now, I am compelled to take in the quiet of the early hours, listen to birdcall and see these winged creatures in their various forms and personalities flit from tree to tree.  I have found a sheer satisfaction in cleaning window jalousies or removing a stain from my husband’s shirt or making our bath towels whiter. The many numerous steps of hand washing plates, pots and pans have now become a meditation. As I teach my own boys who both have autism house chores, I revel at every bit of mastery they achieve no matter how simple. Garret arranging the pillows in a straight line and sorting spoons and forks into their respective places, Morgan pushing the 5-gallon water bottles to the water station with precision and consistently putting his plate and utensils in the sink after meals. And simply yet profoundly, through a vendor’s hymn selling citrus,  I am able to reflect on the very definition of my rudimentary roles of mother, wife, daughter, sister.  His song is calling me to attention: "What am I planning to do with the lemons this uncertain life as I know it now has given me? How shall I transform these strange and fitful circumstances into something beautiful? How shall I assimilate this beauty even more deeply into motherhood, marriage, family? How shall I harvest presence?

Mary Oliver saying “Attention is the beginning of devotion,” brings to mind a thought that perhaps this era of a life that seems so unsure and surreal is asking me to  answer  a follow-up question to that of the unwitting vendor’s song, "What am I truly devoted to?"  Maybe when I  begin to seriously contemplate this is when the surreal will transform into an undeniable reality that cannot be defined by mere words but by deeds. A reality shown by the utter hard work of hands, feet and song not unlike that of the vendor’s hands holding the basket full of lemonsito, carried by dutiful feet walking the streets and a relentless song singing not only of a means  to earn a living but of devotion to living.

         Our bedroom door opens. Garret is awake and is asking for his music. I can hear Morgan  squealing in delight in the background as he plays with the water in the bathroom. He comes out shortly and is asking for breakfast.  The boys are up and about. I put down my cup of coffee, give my boys a longer than usual kiss on the cheeks and say, “Good morning, Garret. Good morning, Morgan,” in a sing-song voice with the first syllables a higher pitch than the second and prolonged emphasis on the last ones.  

          Devotion, a harvest of presence, lemons into lemonade, I bring these words into my heart. As I attend to my boys and quietude breaks into activity, in the background a song reverberates, “Lemoooon, lemonsitooooooo!”